


Look at Me, Pray I'm looking back.

by Princess_Suugar



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Non-Magical, But what is new, F/M, I don't really ship these two, If You Squint - Freeform, One Shot, Short One Shot, Snape is an ass, This is sort of a practice writing, mention of Sirius and Remus, they just fit this imagery in my head
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-03
Updated: 2020-12-03
Packaged: 2021-03-09 19:02:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,158
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27851346
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Princess_Suugar/pseuds/Princess_Suugar
Summary: Hermione and Harry have never met. They just know about each other, but they would never tell each other that. Maybe that will change. Maybe, one day they'll let themselves see each other...
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Harry Potter
Kudos: 14





	Look at Me, Pray I'm looking back.

Her skin was warm and smooth where others their age, very much including himself, had blemishes. She had so many freckles, he thought, Zeus must have gotten carried away. He stared at the stars too long and traced the light that lingered in his eyes onto her skin with the tiniest of brushes. As it had to be a brush, the color of the dots were too soft to have been made with any kind of pen. If she were a sunflower - not that it would surprise him at this point - those freckles would be the seeds, her curly ringlets of brown hair would be the delicate petals always tied in a bun on her head. A feat he could never understand with how much hair bounced on her shoulders when it was down for the few seconds that she used to readjust her hair tie. 

He wondered sometimes, with all the time she spent trying to get all of her curls into the tie, how she always, much to her chagrin, managed to miss so many front pieces. She took her time with things that she thought mattered, but rushed herself in a way he never understood. Always running to things she loved like they held air pockets in between her own drowning. 

Maybe, he thought, they did. 

His focus was never on the board or the teacher, and she wondered how he managed to stare out at a wall for so long. Sometimes he would smile at something that was a “nothing” to everyone who didn’t have an open invitation to his imagination. He had the longest eyelashes she had ever seen on anyone in her life, and she worried his head would become bored of the blank wall and his still body and decide to fly right out the window by blinking as fast he could. His nose would be his steering wheel with its slight crookedness, probably a result of some rugby injury, she thought, charming in its imperfection. 

He was never left to his own devices, but looked like he wished he could be. Teammates always just right around the corner, making his shoulders stiffen. If his back were made of strings, they would be tight enough to play like a harp but, maybe if someone took the time to hold him like an instrument, he’d loosen up. 

He rarely showed his teeth; a fact that only made his braces more noticeable when he did. The bands on them were almost always the same teal color after he came back from the orthodontist, not including the time he made them royal blue (the school’s colors) in support of the team’s rugby tournament. 

They never looked at each other. They never saw that the other saw them. When he walked in the room, she felt his warmth in the room before she had the chance to use her eyes. When she left, the crushing weight and temperature drop was enough to tick him off to her departure before his ears could catch up with the newfound distance between him and her laugh. 

Maybe they never looked at each other. Maybe they never saw that they saw each other.

One day there might be a collision of worlds, of eyes seeing eyes for the first time. Maybe one day she would see that his eyes sparkled with excitement when he talked about his uncles. Maybe one day he would see that her pupils dilate when she listens to her friends’ stories. Maybe. But before maybe is allowed to happen, they must first actually look at one another in a way that is known. 

It is hard to find a whispering voice in a crowd. 

“Speak louder or stop mumbling when I ask someone a question Ms. Granger. For the someone with such high marks in all of her classes, you really are quite stupid,” Professor Snape snapped at the brunette. Her face showed a want to fight the remark, but her body slumped in resignation. 

Harry’s fist clenched under the table. He barely knew the girl, but he knew that she didn’t deserve that kind of treatment. He also knew, however, that if he stepped in it would only make things worse. Snape hated him more than anyone, and defending Hermione would just put a bigger target on her back. It didn’t mean that he couldn’t take the heat off of her, though, he thought.

“Professor, I have a question.” Harry said this, shooting his hand in the air. Snape turned his eyes from Hermione and towards him. The only stare he could feel, though, was hers. He felt Hermione’s look deep in his bones, and it felt like the first time she had ever acknowledged him. It almost made him forget what made her eyes turn to him in the first place, and somewhere in the background of the the blood rushing in his head and his heart pounding loudly in her chest, he heard Snape’s irritated question.

“What is it that you could possibly pretend to care about that pertains to this class Mr. Potter.” It was Snape’s grinding jaw that brought Harry back to reality.

“I was wondering… Why are you such an ass?” At this, the class erupted into gasps, giggles and a few surprised guffaws. The only reaction he cared about though, was her’s. Despite being brave enough to insult the meanest and most homicidal teacher in all of Hogwarts, Harry couldn’t push up enough courage to meet Hermione’s eyes. He didn’t have to fight to see Snape’s look, however, as the man got right in Harry’s face in a fuming rage. 

“Detention, Potter. For the next 3 month, you are going to be walking into a living hell at 5 pm every evening.” Snape growled out the threats in a low voice, especially making sure that no one heard the next sentence. “You will wish that your uncles had left you to die that night, when I am done with you.” Harry seethed at the mention of the night that his parents died, at the mention that his uncles might have left him. He clenched his jaw, kept his comments to himself, and held back the emotions the words had brought out of him. Satisfied with the student’s seething silence, Snape moved back. Behind him was Hermione, turned around in her seat. 

For the first time, their eyes met.

Her eyes held concern, a hint of anger, but mostly confusion. Harry didn’t want to blink in case he missed any details. They were hazel, almost golden, with dark black specks scattered like shattered obsidian. His face softened noticeably, and his mouth opened as if to whisper “hello,” but he stayed silent. The distance between them in the class was too great, and his greeting would go unheard. 

He had a feeling in that moment, however, that this would not be his last chance to meet her all over again.

**Author's Note:**

> Helloo! Thanks for reading this, it really wasn't anything other than a little throw away piece. I sort of just started writing and thought "huh, this reminds me of harry and Hermione." Then I replaced a few words and posted it lmao. Hope you enjoyed!


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